Messes
by TheMuchMuchierAlice
Summary: Savant families are messy. The Benedict family eternally messy. Sometimes the best they could do was remind each other that they're related for better or worse... and try to keep the maiming and killing to a minimum. A series of one shots and drabbles mainly focused on Karla, Saul and the Benedict boys, but will include other characters. Description adapted from a Riordan quote.
1. Life is but a Dream

**Life is but a Dream**

It was just after sunrise when Karla woke, the pale pink sky visible through the crack in the curtains and smiled when she realized it was going to be a beautiful morning. The wooden floor was cold when her toes touched it, and she shivered as she slipped her silk robe over her arms. It was the middle of April and still very cold in England.

From the sounds of running water emanating from the bathroom, Karla assumed Saul was showering and slipped out of their bedroom door, wandering quietly across the hall into the baby's room. He was already awake, giggling happily as he kicked at his blanket and squeezed his toy bear. Karla's smiled widened and she reached into the crib and lifted him out, cradling him gently against her chest.

He was the most beautiful toddler Karla had ever seen, already blessed with soft dark curls and wide, innocent brown eyes. She pressed kisses to his fat cheeks as she dressed him in a pair of dungarees and a green jumper, and laughed when he kicked his legs as she tried to slip his socks onto his tiny feet.

Dressed, Karla carried him into the kitchen and settled him down on a thick blanket on the floor so that she could start breakfast; although she did glance at him occasionally, shaking her head as he chewed his toes and rolled around.

Saul came into the kitchen just as she was pouring scrambled eggs onto toast. He was cleanly shaved and dressed in a smart shirt and trousers for his lecture. He slid his hands around her waist and rested them on the bump that protruded from her stomach. Their second child together. It was a small bump for almost nine months, but Karla still felt huge.

"Morning," he murmured, pressing several kisses to her cheeks. "How's my girl?"

"Your girl is fat," she complained while smiling. "I can barely see my feet and my clothes don't fit." Karla pouted and Saul laughed.

"You look beautiful." He kissed her again.

"Mmm…" Karla pulled away. "Your breakfast will go cold."

Saul just grinned and scooped their baby off of the blanket, who shrieked and giggled and tried to pull on his father's hair.

"You're going to be a big brother soon," Saul told him. "So you'd better be a good boy today and let you mom rest, we clear."

Their son gurgled and Saul nodded, taking that as a yes.

"I'll take a nap when he does," Karla said quietly, sliding a plate of eggs and toast in front of her husband. She poured him a large mug of coffee and sat down, thought this took her a few moments now that her bump was at it's peak. Saul squeezed her hand.

"Don't forget, I'll be home early tonight," he said. Karla's brows met in confusion. "I said I'd cook you dinner, and I will."

"You don't have to," she insisted. Saul was a terrible cook, unless it involved eggs. But he'd always helped with the household chores and was always ready to fix anything broken and while Karla loved his eagerness, she was reluctant to give up the kitchen as it were. She liked cooking, like to be the one to place a steaming plate in front of her husband when he came home.

"I promised; you deserve a rest - you do so much for us." Saul chuckled as their son tried to reach for his coffee. "Did you want to try some, little one?"

The boy giggled and Karla smiled; she loved seeing her husband and son together. She knew she was the envy of every woman in the neighborhood for having such a loving husband and an adorable son. Her eyes flicked to the kitchen clock.

"You'll be late darling," she said, standing to take his empty plate away. Saul sighed; the closer Karla's due date became, the more reluctant he was to leave her.

"I can stay a little longer," he disagreed, standing also.

"Go!" She ordered, laughing as he placed the baby on the blanket and pulled his wife in for a long kiss. "I won't have it said that Saul Benedict failed his degree because he spent too much time kissing his wife."

Saul pressed a kiss to her forehead and another to her cheek. He ruffled their son's soft, curly hair and, with the promise of dinner later, slipped out the door, jacket on, bag in his arms.

The baby yawned widely, and Karla smiled. "Back to bed for us, I think, darling."

She sang to her son until he was sleeping, and then returned to her bedroom, tossing her robe onto the end of the bed and settling herself onto Saul's side of the bed, hugging his pillow to her. She took a deep breath and sighed as she smelt his shampoo and aftershave. Karla smiled and her eyes slowly drifted shut…

Karla woke with a jolt and then gasped as a sharp pain hit her stomach. Her eyes flew open, hand falling to her waist and sat up, trying to catch her breath. Was it the baby? Was she going into labor now?

Her eyes glanced to the clock and her eyebrows dipped in confusion. And then… she realized. It was a vision. A far too real vision. She wasn't in a bright and airy apartment, married to Saul, mother to his first child and pregnant with his second. She was in Chicago, in a musty and dirty motel room, sharing a bed with her sister. Loretta's elbow had caused the pain by hitting her abdomen.

Karla didn't move for a long time, hardly daring to breathe for fear of forgetting something. After trying to commit every second of the dream she'd just had to memory, she laid back down and fought the urge to scream with frustration. She could feel herself beginning to tremble; a terrible sensation of loss, of disappointment so intense that she started to feel nauseous.

Why did she wake up early? Why couldn't she have slept until Saul came home, so he could kiss her and hug her and she could watch him play with their son again. For a few minutes, if only in a vision, she could have loved the man she longed to be married to. Now that she was awake she could feel the dull ache of hunger in her stomach and tightness in her muscles after being cramped on a bus all day long. Shouldn't she be allowed to enjoy her visions in their entirety, or wasn't she allowed even that small consolation for the realities of her daily nightmares.

She knew from experience of previous visions that those about Saul led to more than just shaking and severe disappointment. Moving slowly, so as not to wake Loretta, Karla slipped her pillow out from under her head and rolled onto her stomach, which was now flat and empty, and pressed her face into the mattress. Then she covered her head with her pillow and gripped it tightly with both hands, desperately trying to muffle the sounds of her sobbing.


	2. The Washing Machine

**The Washing Machine**

"It's beautiful."

"It looks noisy."

It was Karla's latest purchase. The box it came in labeled it a washing machine, but after a weekend of binge-watching episodes of Doctor Who, both Xavier and Yves were convinced it was a time machine in disguise. It didn't help that it went in a room with similar looking machines with buttons that lit up red and green and rumbled and roared like the monsters and aliens they marveled over.

For that reason alone, it had to be something worth checking out.

Yves had tried to get a better look at the thing while Saul had fitted it to the wall that morning, but Karla had shooed him and Xav away before they could get their hands on any of the parts or press the buttons.

No matter, he'd swiped the instructions as soon as his mother had left for her Sunday afternoon grocery shop, and now he was examining the schematics, while Xav poked and prodded at the actual model.

"Mom was right," Yves said sadly, "it isn't a time machine."

"Who cares?" Xav snorted, pressing a button and laughing in delight as it lit up a vibrant shade of red; red was his favorite color. "Look at all the buttons and lights, Yves. Look how white and shiny it is. I bet this one turns it on!"

Yves ignored his brother. "It says it washes better than any other machine. Whoever read this hasn't seen our laundry piles." The machine beeped and rumbled. Both boys jumped back. "Don't touch it, Xav," he said, feeling important as he reminded his brother, "it's brand new."

"I'm not hurting anyone," Xav protested, lifting the lid to the machine to peek inside. The machine was much taller than he was, so he was holding onto the machine for dear life, his long legs kicking in the air. "And it's _supposed_ to be used, isn't it."

"We're not supposed to be playing with it," Yves chided as his legs carried him forward of his own accord to look inside. He'd never seen anything like the inside of this machine before, and his father had shown him plenty of the insides of machines - heck, he'd even helped fix the inside of a car before, and helped work on a motorcycle. He flipped through the pages of the booklet again, noting one particular object. It was called the agitator. _Interesting_...

"Let's turn it on!"

Yves stopped Xav pressing the start button and stood between his brother and the machine. "Let's not. It's complicated machinery. _You_ have no idea how it works."

" _You_ have no idea how it works either." Xav pointed out, his chin high in the air. Yves bit his lip.

"Mom is out," he objected half-halfheartedly. "She wouldn't want us playing with it." The excuse sounded pitiful to his own ears. 'Mom is out' was usually their excuse for engaging in mischief. And he did want to see how the machine worked. As if he sensed his brother's weakening defenses, Xav tested him further with an encouraging smile.

"Besides, we're not going to _play_ with it. We're going to _wash_ something. We're not being bad if we're washing something. That's what it's for."

Their mother was always letting them wash the dishes. Surely washing clothes could be no different?

And now Xav looked so earnest and well-meaning, Yves didn't have a leg to stand on. And he wanted to see what the machine did too.

Yves shrugged. "Fine," he said with a cheeky grin, "I don't care what you do."

With a yell of delight, Xav grabbed his brother's hand and tugged him into the garage. Their father was working on a bike, tinkering at something with a pair of pliers while the radio played loudly.

"Daddy?" Xav announced, and Saul looked up, smiling at his sons. "Daddy, can we help?"

"Sure, Xav," Saul passed the elder boy a pipe covered in oil and dirt. Yves was given a couple of rags. "You boys clean this for me, I'll give you a dollar each."

Getting to see the machine work _and_ getting a dollar each for their cleaning skills? Yves could not believe his luck.

But before he could express his joy, Xav had tugged him into the room with the machine in again, lifted the lid and dumped the pipe in the large drum.

"Xav," Yves said slowly, "you do know this is for cleaning laundry, right? So, like, clothes?" He couldn't help the derision in his tone.

His brother turned to him, rolling his eyes in a good imitation of their mother. "So why don't they call it a _clothes_ washing machine, genius?"

Yves had nothing to say to that. Xav snatched the instructions manual and pressed a few buttons. The machine filled with water. Yves sighed; Xav was more likely to rust the pipe than he was to clean it.

"Now comes the soap!" Gleefully, Xav grabbed the box and went to pour the whole thing into the machine. "What?" he said, spotting the look on his brother's face. "It's _really_ dirty." He sighed loudly and stopped. "How much should I use?"

Yves decided there and then that living through Xav could be quite vivacious. As long as Xav's hands were the only ones caught in the cookie jar, Yves could maximize his mischief making potential while avoiding punishment should they get caught. The realization made Yves stand taller, straighten his shoulders. Everything was now fair game. As long as Xav believed he had come to the idea himself, of course. As such, some maneuvering was necessary.

"Only a tiny bit of soap," Yves ordered in his haughtiest tone; Xav hated it when Yves was bossy. "Not even a palm full."

"What's the point of washing if there's no suds?" Xav muttered. "C'mon Yves, you know the pipe is really, really dirty. Daddy will want it really clean, won't he? What if I only pour in half the box?"

Yves made a show of looking at the instructions. In his eagerness to use the machine, Xav ripped the instructions from his brother and tore them up.

"Never mind," he yelled, "it's an adventure, right? We're like scientists, experimenting on the washing machine! We don't need stinking directions!"

Yves shrugged, feigning indifference. He was, by now, almost bored with the machine and was sure that using it wasn't as exciting as it was when they had first seen it. "Fine. Do what you like, after all, it's _your_ laundry."

Heaps of white powder were dumped into the machine. Xav pressed all the buttons and began to count down loudly.

"One!" He shrieked and the machine rumbled into life, grumbling and groaning as the pipe clanked around in the drum. Both boys took several steps back. A large gush of water flooded the room, soaking the floor with soap and dirt.

"Turn it off!" Yves yelled, looking for the switch desperately. An even larger gush of water swayed over the side, soaking the boys.

"Turn it off!" Xav screamed. "It'll explode and we'll die!"

"I can't - I don't know how!" Yves yelled back. "You were the one who ripped up the instructions!"

By this time the floor was filled in at least half an inch of water. Yves slipped and fell, in his shock, opening his mouth and swallowing a mouthful of soapy water.

He scrambled away from the angry machine as fast as he could, spluttering and coughing. He and Xav exchanged a panicked look and they both quickly slipped out the door, ran through the kitchen and out of the back door and into the woods with the motor still going in the background.

 **00oo00oo00**

An angry, high pitched shriek alerted Saul to trouble before he'd even finished working on the bike. Tossing the rag down and wiping his hands on his jeans, he made a run for the utility room, where he skidded to a halt, almost falling over as he came face to face with his wife, thanks to the volume of soap and water on the floor.

His wife stood in the middle of it, futilely swiping at the mess with an already soaking mop. Saul wanted to back away; Karla was seething with anger.

"What happened?" He asked, as innocently as he could muster.

"Those stupid, idiotic sons of yours!" Karla growled. Saul resisted the urge to roll his eyes; they only became _his_ sons when they had done something wrong. "I'm going to throttle both of them."

Saul stepped towards his wife and the machine cautiously. "Are you sure? I could have plumbed it wrong, maybe-"

"I've been shooing Xav and Yves away from this room all day." she spun to face him with her finger pointed, as if he was one of her miscreant offspring. "You were supposed to be in charge, Saul Benedict, I leave the house for two hours, with you in charge. "Stay out of trouble," I told them, "go outside and play." And I come home to _this_!"

Saul swallowed. "It can't have been them, I gave them a pipe to clean from the bike and-"

His wife's shriek almost deafened him. " _This pipe?_ " She reached into the washing machine and thrust a still dirty and oily pipe in his view. " _You_ gave _my_ sons a pipe to clean from _your_ deathtrap of a bike?

Saul reached out slowly to release the pipe from her grip. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'll clean this up. I'll order a new washing machine and-"

"No! No, no, no, no way! From now on _I_ am the _only_ member of this household to set foot in this room!"

"Okay, okay," Saul rubbed the back of his neck. "What would you like me to do?"

With no hesitation Karla snapped; "Go out there, find me those boys and drag them back here so I can _wring_ their necks!"

Saul decided his best chance at getting dinner that night was to follow his wife's orders, and slowly trailed out the back door, turning the pipe over in his hands as he did. It wasn't hard to follow in his son's footsteps; he had plenty of wet, soapy footprints to follow. He followed it far into the woods before he came to a halt at a stream he knew flowed from the Eyrie.

"Boys?" He called, picking his way along the rush of water; suds floated alongside branches and leaves.

Xav's head popped up from under the water.

"The more I rinse, the soapier I get!" he complained in lieu of a greeting. Saul shook his head and reached into the water to yank his son out the water, and almost dropped him back in due to the suds and how slippery they had made his fifth son's body.

"Come on Xav, let's get you out of here." He looked around for Yves. "Where's your brother?"

"Daddy?" a small voice beckoned from behind him.

Saul turned, expression stern, but quickly wilted at his son's distress. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Daddy, I can't make it stop!" Yves spoke in a rush, his expression panicked. "I swallowed some soap and- and- I can't-"

A loud belch erupted from his smallest son and several bubbles dripped out of his son's mouth. Xavier laughed loudly.

"It's not funny!" Yves cried, hiccuping and producing several more bubbles. "Daddy, please make it stop!"

"Daddy, I'm still soapy!" Xav whined, wriggling and squirming in his father's arms. Saul placed him down and Xav placed his hands on his hips and glared at Yves. He was the spitting image of his mother. "And my favorite shirt is _ruined_!"

"I don't feel good!" Yves said miserably, hiccuping again. Saul raised his eyes towards the sky, lifted Yves into his arms and steered Xav back to the house.

By the time the three had reached home, Karla had managed to get the utility room a little drier and cleaner, and was calm enough to feel a little sympathy for the boys, who by all accounts looked very soggy and pathetic. She didn't wring their necks, though she threatened to several times and bathed them in warm non-soapy water, bundled them into warm fluffy towels and put them in their pajamas. After they were dressed and showered, Yves spent the rest of the day lying down, spitting foam and bubbles into a bucket. Xav made a big show of apologizing and hugging and kissing his mother, and Saul, for his part, moved the washing machine outside, where it would be thrown out.

Later on in the evening, Karla and Saul showed up at Yves's bedroom door, with a nervous looking Xav in tow. Saul sat in the desk chair, Karla perched on his lap and they let the boys occupy the bed.

"It seems our boys have a sudden fascination with housework." Saul said quietly. "Rather odd considering how far they run when we ask them to do their chores."

"We just wanted to see what it did," Xav hung his head.

"We thought it was a time machine!" added Yves.

"You couldn't have waited for me to do some actual laundry?" Karla asked exasperatedly.

"You wouldn't have let us touch anything, though." Xav muttered sullenly, crossing his arms and pouting.

"With good reason, don't you think? A pipe? Really?" Karla moved to the window, arms crossed.

"Daddy asked us to clean it; we just wanted to make it shiny!" Xav explained.

" _You_ wanted to make it shiny." Yves corrected, playing with the bedspread.

"Neither of you had any business being in the laundry room. You were told not to touch the washing machine. Your mother told you to stay out of trouble before she left. And what have I always told you?" Saul asked.

"To listen to your mom," the boys intoned together.

"Did you listen to either of us today?" Karla asked.

"No, mom," they said together again.

Saul nodded thoughtfully. "Then I believe you're both due a punishment, right?"

Xav nodded forlornly, while Yves hiccuped.

"Seeing as you both enjoy the idea of washing so much," Karla said with a gentle smile, "I think you can both do the washing up after dinner for the foreseeable future."

"But I told Xav not to touch the stupid machine," Yves said quickly. Xav gave a roar of indignation and was very quickly lifted off the bed by his father, who knew when Xav was most likely to cause a ruckus.

"I'm sure you said the words," Karla agreed, taking Yves's hand and pulling him to his feet. "But I very much doubt you meant them."

Yves's heart sank, his expression faltering. "But mo-om-"

Karla knelt down to Yves's level. "Look me in the eye and tell me you tried your best to convince Xav to leave my washing machine alone and that you only stayed to watch because you were concerned for his safety."

Yves knew when he had lost the battle to his mother and pouted. "But I don't feel well enough to do the washing up."

"I'm sure you don't, darling," Karla smoothed his hair down and kissed his cheek. "That's what happens when you mess around with things you aren't supposed to and any deliberate naughtiness, like what we've discussed this afternoon, is going to result in a punishment. Alright, Yves?"

Yves nodded, then hiccuped and a bubble the size of a marble escaped his mouth.

Saul gave him a small smile. "That's the smallest one yet, I'm sure you're feeling better."

Karla led Yves out of the room and down the stairs, closely followed by Xav and Saul

"You know what, daddy?" Xav said as they reached the kitchen. "With Yves around we don't need a washing machine."

Saul looked at his son, with raised eyebrows. "Why's that Xav?"

"Cause this family only needs one agitator."


	3. The Aquarium

**The Aquarium**

"Wow," Yves whispered, staring wide-eyed up at the largest tank in the center of the aquarium. He was holding one of Trace's hands and one of Uriel's, and a few feet away, a small group of girls and boys were staring at them. Yves was used to this; his mother always said that when they stood together, the eldest Benedict's looked like they could be in a gang or something. Trace and Uriel often found it irritating, but they were too used to Yves's explosions to completely relax when alone with him, too worried that they'd suddenly be exposed as Savants, but Yves didn't mind. He thought it was nice of people to treat him like a normal kid.

Yves's first ever school year was about to begin, and while his mom and dad were talking to the school about his temper, Yves had ridden down to Denver with Trace and Uriel to see the aquarium. It made him happy to think that even if they were slightly scared by his explosions, that his brothers liked to spend time with him.

"We'll buy you a toy one in the gift shop if you like," Uriel whispered.

"What about an octopus too?" Yves asked eagerly, looking up at his brothers who glanced at each other then back at their younger brother.

"Maybe," Trace said slowly, "if you can find one."

Yves enjoyed being a kid, but he didn't really _feel_ like a kid. As his mind worked faster than most other people's he often wondered if he was just a grown up in disguise, not a kid the way non-Savants thought he was; just a six year old admiring the shark tank. Mom and dad could understand how old he was mentally, and his brothers tried their hardest too. And besides Yves was happy, so to him, that was all that mattered.

After staring at the shark tank for a few more minutes, Trace and Uri picked him up by the arms and swung his as they walked towards the gift shop and the cafeteria. Yves laughed, delighted, as his feet left the ground.

"You hungry, squirt?" Trace asked, staring at the menu. There wasn't much on there that Yves would like, given that he was fussy with his food.

"Only a little," Yves craned his neck to look at the menu. "Do they have spaghetti with hot dogs?"

"I don't think so. How about an ice cream," Uriel offered, "then you can have spaghetti and hot dogs when you get home."

"Well, I won't say no," Yves said happily. First, Trace and Uriel took him into the gift shop and bought him a stuffed octopus and a shark. And then, because Trace was feeling generous, they picked him up a large Yves-sized octopus, that had eyes that lit up when he pressed the button on a tentacle.

Then, because it was warm, they took him to an ice cream van by the river and bought him the biggest ninety-nine, with sauce and sprinkles, they could and Yves leaned on the railing, staring at the river below while he ate.

"Do you think there are sharks in there?" He asked, melted ice cream dripping down his hand and staining his jacket sleeve. He wondered how easy it would be to jump into the water and find out, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Probably not," Uriel said, "but let's not find out today. Mom will skin us alive if we bring you home in wet clothes."

"And what would dad say about you jumping in rivers without knowing the direction of the currents or whatever?" Trace asked with a smile. Yves rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically.

"He'd say, "Do me a favor and wait until you're a few inches taller," like when I tried climbing that tree alone or when I wanted to go rafting with you guys."

"Yeah, well, I think we'll all feel better when you get a bit bigger," Uriel said quietly. "I'm mean you're pretty indestructible, what with your flame throwing and all that, but given you size... Well, you _look_ very breakable."

"So you don't want to see me wrestle a shark?" Yves asked.

"No," Trace and Uriel said firmly. They looked at the dripping cone in Yves's hand and sighed. "You want another ice cream before we go?" Trace took the cone and dropped it in the bin, while Uri wiped down Yves's hands with a tissue.

"Trace, he'll be sick." Uri said quietly.

"No, he won't," Trace replied.

"I'm not saying no!" Yves piped up. But rather than risk Yves throwing up in the car, Uriel bought him a lolly to suck on; it was orange, his favorite. Yves sighed happily and leaned back in his seat. He loved his brothers.


	4. Coffee Beans

**Coffee Beans**

He asked him why he smelt like coffee.

That was Xav's first question for his father. His wide brown eyes stared up at Saul, who looked like a giant in his huge boots, Xav's tiny starfish hands clutching at his oil stained jeans. His voice small, clipped, precocious.

Saul peered down at his son's intrigued stare with an amused smile and replied, " _Because I'm always drinking it, Xav_."

" _I want to smell like coffee too,_ " he'd declared, trying to take his father's mug.

But Xav was too young and too hyper to feed off caffeine the way his father did, so he let him carry around a pouch of coffee beans instead. Xav stuffed them into his red corduroy jumper and buttoned the buttons to protect his treasure.

Will asked him how he'd persuaded their dad to let him drink the stuff.

Saul watched his youngest sons play in the mud from the smeary window. It seemed all the windows, for all Karla's cleaning, were smeared with their sons fingerprints. It baffled him the way all children always had to touch the glass on windows when they wanted to take a peak outside. Maybe that way they felt like they were touching what they saw.

Xav toddled over to the porch with his rain boots and jumper caked in dirt and slosh.

Saul sighed. Karla was going to throw a fit.

 _Swish clop. Swish clop._

" _Daddy,_ "Xav cried eagerly, " _look what I made for you!_ "

In his outstretched palm was a dripping, slimy mud pie.

Saul tried not cringe at the thought of his wife finding out he had allowed the 'pie' to reside on her pristine kitchen surfaces while he attempted to clean their son up as best he could. But some jobs were simply best left to Karla; for no matter how many times Saul made Xav stand in front of the mirror in the hall, and no matter how many times he checked to make sure there was not a spec of dirt on his clothes, Xav still managed to stain _something_ in the house after he was allowed off the doormat.

And even when he vanished from sight, he was still _all over_ the house.

The tiny toothbrush in the sink. The trail of Lego that led the way down the hall. His mismatched socks in the laundry basket. His coloring books on the carpet in the den.

Saul saved those coloring books - every one of them. He'd be damned if anyone but Karla knew; a Benedict could never admit to being such a sentimental fool.

He used red crayons the most; those were Xav's favorite. He never colored inside the lines, and that made him proud because he'd never stayed inside those lines either. Xav was just like him. He was Saul's baby boy.

But even babies must grow up.

And one day his Xav returned to him, covered head to toe in maturity. His first year at medical school at done him good, although his hair was styled more extravagantly than before and his clothes were more expensive.

Saul did not know what to _say_ to this new Xav.

He did not know what to _do_ with this new Xav.

Because Xav couldn't fit into those plastic rain boots anymore. He considered the red corduroy jumper a crime against fashion. The coloring books were a long distant memory, and those coffee beans had been swapped for a girl called Crystal.

Sometimes, when Saul saw Xav smile, he was reminded of that four year old trouble-maker, waltzing through the front door with his boots caked in mud and his hair soaked from the rain, clutching a mud pie for his father's dinner.

In those moments, Saul wanted his baby Xav back.

He wondered is he could find him if he searched long enough. Was there a proud and precocious four year old buried beneath this gangly, intelligent, scruffy haired college student?

Would he be content to ride in Saul's Jeep to watch him fish like he used to? Would he squeal at the hilarity of seeing his father struggle to pull the line from the water, on the edge of the dock in suspense to see if _this time_ something had happened?

Would he snatch the pouch of coffee beans from him as if it were gold and keep it hidden in her pocket everywhere he went?

Would he humor his father in running through the mud puddles in a red corduroy jumper, and grin cheekily at him from the shower of rain, drenched from head to toe?

Maybe.

Maybe baby Xav was still there.

Maybe he was just waiting for the perfect rainstorm before he came out to play.

But even if he didn't, he would always love him anyway.


	5. Interrupted - Pt 1 - Sky

**Interrupted - Pt. 1**

The kitchen was a mess. A basket of washing waited to be folded sat on the island. Piles of sports wear and jeans and shirts were stacked on the counters, some organization apparent in the chaos. The radio in the corner was softly playing one of Karla's favorite Seafret tracks, her slender fingers tapping to the tune as she sang along. Saul was settled languidly in one of the kitchen chairs, his legs stretched out under the table and crossed at the ankle. In his lap was one of his fat classics, some kind of Dickens judging by the text and he read slowly, his own foot tapping to his wife's music.

Snow was falling outside, the windows darkened by the thick downfall. It was one of those rare days when they could have been any old couple. They weren't Savants or parents or saving lives or solving crimes. They were simply two people, enjoying a leisurely day, content to stay indoors as the snow blanketed the woods outside.

Karla folded another of Xav's distressed jeans and placed it carefully on the growing pile, before reaching into the basket and pulling out another.

"Is there much point in me folding _any_ of Xav's clothes?" Karla asked quietly, breaking the comfortable silence they had been sat in for the last hour.

Saul looked up from his book to settle his eyes on his wife, expression amused. "Probably not," he replied.

"Only I know they'll just end up on his bedroom floor, no matter how many times I tell him he has a wardrobe for a reason." Karla bit her lip and smoothed the crease out of the pair of jeans she had just placed on the pile. "Why does he have so many pairs of jeans?" she muttered, reaching - finally - for the last pair of jeans belonging to her fifth son.

"He takes after his mother," Saul murmured, eyes back on his book. Karla brushed impatiently at hair that was falling in her eyes and caught her husband's eye, trying and failing to look indignant. He grinned at her and she rolled her eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He shook his head, grin still in place. "Only, my darling, that you have influenced him with your wonderful taste in clothes."

Karla raised her eyebrows, hands on her hips. "Hmm," was her response.

"I'm serious," Saul quickly continued, nudging her hip with his elbow as she walked past to place Xav's jeans on a counter. "Look at you-" his eyes washed over her white top, the tight skinny jeans and her black heels, "-you look beautiful."

She smiled, dimples winking. "I should hope so," she kissed his cheek as she came past again, carrying a basket, "I work hard to look this good." She paused and came to a halt in front of him. "Do you like my shoes? Shelby took me shopping."

"They look like a deathtrap," Saul said, with the air of someone who spent too much time being asked his opinion on shoes, turning over his book to mark the page and leaning back in his chair. Karla pouted and turned back to folding Zed's shirts.

"I _think_ they're pretty," she muttered.

"And _I think_ you will fall down the stairs and break your neck."

She laughed at that. "Honestly, Saul, you'd think I'd never worn heels in my life. I'm a woman, darling, I'm hardly going to be taken down by a pair this size."

"You won't be saying when you're lying in the morgue." Saul's eyes flitted to the steadily falling snow.

"Sometimes, Saul, I think you wish me dead," she glanced up at her husband, grinning again.

"Yeah, sounds about right," he winked at her and Karla's insides melted. "I'm counting down the days, and then once your gone it'll be nothing but takeaways and creased laundry." He reached out and caught her hand, squeezing it gently. "You know full well I wouldn't last a second without you. I need you in my life, dear."

Karla laughed again, watching as he stared at the snow. She moved to stand behind him, her hands squeezing his shoulders lightly. "It's really coming down now."

He nodded, twisting to look at her. "The boys will probably plan some elaborate snow war for tonight."

"God help Sky if they do," she said with a smile. "I love this weather," she murmured, "it feels like we're entirely isolated." Her arms moved to curl around his neck and she brushed her lips against his cheek.

Saul reached up to touch her cheek as her mouth reached his neck. "Careful, sweetheart, you're tempting fate. The kids are all around here somewhere and we are in the kitchen."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm allowed to kiss my husband."

He chuckled. "That's true."

He led her around the chair and a sharp tug had her falling into his lap. Their eyes met and Saul was breathless. "Hey," his voice was lower than usual and Karla couldn't help but smile.

"Hi," she breathed.

Her smile spread as she took in his rough skin, the sunbursts of crinkles and the thick dark hair that fell across his shoulders. His dark eyes were filled with amusement; knowledge and trust and love evident in his gaze. She shivered and his hands held her closer, eyes softening as he looked upon the person he loved more than anyone else in the world. She lifted her hand and ran her thumb across the pad of his lower lip, giggling when he caught it between his teeth and bit down gently. His face changed, shifting her so her legs draped over the arm of the chair, smile widening as he took pleasure in their playfulness.

He leaned forward, lips capturing hers almost lazily in a slow, drugging kiss. She wrapped herself around him more completely, her fingers running gently through his hair. The tip of his tongue reached the edge of her lips and she pulled away, smiling.

"Now who's tempting fate?" she teased.

"I'm allowed to kiss my wife." he kissed her again briefly, his hand tucking silky strands of hair behind her ears. Then he leaned forward again to kiss her jawline, making his way to her ear, brushing the earlobe, skirting the diamond stud he'd given her for their anniversary and continuing to just behind. Karla sighed blissfully.

"Not fair," she whispered.

He smiled against her neck, breath warm on her skin. "I didn't said I minded tempting fate. Let them walk in."

They returned to kissing, his hands pressing against her back. Her hands began to move of their own accord, one thrust in his hair, weaving through the thick, black locks, the other inching under his sweater, tracing patterns across his stomach and chest.

A strangled gasp from the doorway had her jerking her head away, hand stilling on his skin. "Sorry!" Sky squeaked, her cheeks flushing and eyes widening as she turned and fled.

Karla slid off her husband's lap and folded her arms, eyebrows raised as she stared at Saul, who grinned devilishly. She rolled her eyes. "You _had_ to say 'let them walk in' didn't you?"

"Well, at least that's all of them."

"That's what you said last time," Karla allowed herself to be pulled back onto his lap and began to stroke his cheek.

"I'd rather have Sky in the family than have been right."

Karla laughed softly, "I'd rather have had both."

"Our anniversary's coming up," Saul tilted his head back, eyeing her curiously. "Maybe we should go somewhere we can't possibly be interrupted."

"A place where we can't be interrupted? Doesn't exist."

He laughed, eyes softening as they searched hers. "It's worth it though, despite the sacrifices, right?"

Karla shook her head in disbelief. "There are no sacrifices in this life," she told him, cupping his cheeks with hands whose touch was so light he could barely feel them. "I wouldn't change a thing."

He pressed a kiss to one of her palms. "Even the interruptions?"

Karla closed her eyes and thought of her large family, of all the years they'd shared together, of all the embarrassing, funny, painful interruptions they'd received from each of their sons. She remembered how Xav had teased her gently and how Uriel had apologized. She remembered how Will had never spoken again of why he had interrupted and how Victor probably didn't realize he _had_ interrupted. She remembered Yves's tears when he had interrupted and the phone call from the school about Zed which had interrupted them. She remembered Trace's care and fierce protection of their relationship.

"Yes," she smiled slowly, "even the interruptions."

 **00oo00oo00**

Sky found Zed and his brothers in the family room. Her face was flushed when she walked in, her brow furrowed and arms crossed tightly across her chest.

"I know _that_ look," Xav said with a smirk and Yves smiled knowingly. "That's the look of 'I just walked in on your parents!' and I don't know how to burn the image from my eyes without blinding myself."

Sky's eyes narrowed as she glared at Xav, then darted from face to face, her embarrassment ebbing away, lingering on Will's amused grin. He was lounging on the couch, squished between Trace and Victor. "Don't look so alarmed," he told her, "it's not like they care, they've probably just carried on right where they left off."

"You could have stopped me," she said, her tone frustrated.

Zed pulled her down onto his lap, looping an arm around her waist. "It's their really warped way of welcoming you to the family."

Victor rolled his eyes. "Don't make that face, Sky, they were just kissing. It's not like they were doing anything worse."

"They're like parents to me!" Sky wailed before elbowing Zed. "And how the hell was _that_ a welcome?"

Zed shrugged. "It's like a tradition. We've all interrupted them in different ways. I interrupted them by getting suspended last year. It was the call from the principal that forced them to pry themselves off of each other."

Victor grinned; "In the bath when I walked in."

"In bed," Trace said with a groan and everyone laughed at that.

"In the garden," Yves announced.

"Against a wall," Will clicked his fingers and stood, smiling softly.

Uriel shot a glare at Xav, "In the woods."

"The study," Xav said with a grin, spreading his hands and laughing at his brother before turning back to Sky. "And now you can say 'In the kitchen'."

Sky shook her head, an amused smile forming as she realized, in their strange, too-much-time-on-their-hands kind of way, they were really welcoming her into their little club. They were saying " _now you are a Benedict._ "

Sky let her mind drift. It was easy to forget that somewhere in the midst of working with the Savant Net and being parents to seven grown up sons their bodies would still carry the urges and drives that went along with being soulfinders. She thought of the moment she had interrupted in the kitchen. She thought of how Karla had looked with her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, the strands that couldn't reach tucked around her ears, her simple diamond earrings flashing in the light. She thought of how Saul looked with his messy hair, his sweater thick and warm, his wedding ring glinting at her. They had looked far too young for the responsibility of grown children or saving the world, far too young to carry the burden of guiding eight young Savants down a moral path.

It was in their intimacy that they rediscovered their bond, she realized, sighing and burrowing closer to Zed.

"There's something comforting about seeing them together," he said, reading her thoughts, "isn't there?"

Uriel spoke up. "Their thirtieth anniversary is soon."

"They're going to Greece for their fortieth," Yves said confidently.

Sky sighed again. _Thirty years_. She took great, overwhelming comfort in imagining that she and Zed could still be like Saul and Karla thirty years into their lives together. That they could still feel young and carefree and playful was a lovely thing to witness, a warm bit of assurance for someone still in the tentative early waters of the soulfinder relationship.

Zed squeezed her hand tightly and she glanced up at him, his smile gentle. "Is it hard to imagine?"

"Thirty years?" She looked around the room, noting how much each of the brother's had witnessed of their parents lives and remembered what thirty years looked like. "No," she said quietly, "it's not hard to imagine at all."


	6. Jealous - Pt 1

**Jealous - Pt. 1**

"You look beautiful today."

Karla rolled her eyes, looking up from the selection of pain chips she had been examining. "You found me then," she teased. "And you tell me that every day."

Saul smirked and folded his arms, leaning causally against a shelf of paint. "Well, it's true every day." His eyes flicked to the paint chips. "Have you decided?"

Karla sighed. "No," she said as she moved to stand beside him, spreading the chips out on her palm to show her husband. "What do you think, darling?"

It was Saul's turn to sigh. "Sweetheart, you know I can't tell the difference."

"How can you not? They're completely different colors!"

"They're all white," Saul defended, eyeing the samples with an expression bordering on distaste.

"Well yes, they're white, but look, Saul- Saul, are you looking? This one is more of a pink, this one has more blue and this is more of a creamy white…" Karla trailed off when she caught the blank look on her husband's face. "Saul Benedict, I simply do not understand how you can understand physics and constellations and rivers and car engines and yet fail to see the differences in these colors no matter how many times I show you them."

"It's an art," Saul teased, laughing. "Oh, come on, baby, those are completely different examples."

Karla blushed at the word _baby_ and laughed too, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

There was a reason Saul was never allowed to choose the paint for the walls of their home. It wasn't so much that he couldn't distinguish between different shades and colors, after all Saul had perfect eyesight and he was perfectly intelligent. He just didn't care enough to learn the differences. To Saul, time spent choosing paint colors was time wasted.

Which was why they made such a perfect decorating team; Karla chose the color she wanted and Saul painted it on the walls.

"Well, we can rule the egg shell white out, at least," Karla decided, placing her least favorite chip back in the box. "It wouldn't match with the rest of the house."

"You do realize you're choosing a color for the garage, sweetheart. And it's only me and the boys who spend any time in there."

" _That_ , darling, is exactly why I want it painted," Karla said firmly. "As long as any of you go into the garage, I want the walls to match in with the rest of the house."

"I'm seeing… fuchsia," Saul said teasingly. "Or perhaps magenta? Which would better match the Jeep and my bikes?"

Karla mock-glared at her husband. "You know perfectly well I despise those particular colors."

"You don't like my choices?" Saul pretended to be saddened and Karla elbowed him in the side, although she knew he'd barely felt it.

"You are not ruining all my hard work with your terrible ideas," she grumbled. Saul would just never understand her stance on decorating; that everything in a house, interior to exterior, must be in unity and therefore, any color that clashed with white or gray, such as magenta or fuchsia would never flaunt itself on her walls."Stick to painting, darling. Leave the important decisions to me."

"I intend to, sweetheart." He looked up and down the musty paint aisle curiously and then pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm going to pick up some things for that shelving. I'll grab a cart when you've chosen," he said, already slipping away down the aisle. "I leave the daunting task of picking which white to use in your hands, baby."

Karla blushed again. "My hero," she smiled, waving him away dismissively. "Go on, I'll be fine. No doubt you'll enjoy yourself more surrounded by hammers and saws."

Saul stopped at the end of the aisle, frowning. "Don't lift anything," he told her. "They'll be heavy and I don't want you to hurt yourself."

She smiled at his chivalry. "I'll text you when I've decided, darling." Her husband hesitated again and Karla sighed. "Go, I promise I'll still be here when you come back."

And with that Saul made his escape. Karla silently laughed to herself; who'd have thought Saul Benedict, one of the most powerful Savants in the world, would be afraid of a few cardboard paint chips?

She'd never admit it to him, but part of the reason she dragged Saul along on every shopping trip when they decorated was because she derived some sick pleasure in seeing him out of his element. Sure he knew which paint when where and which was the best to use but color choices were not his thing.

But they were hers, and so she returned to her task. She'd gone to a store in Denver for the rest of the house and the choices there were overwhelming, but here they left something to be desired. Saul would of course take her to Denver in a heartbeat if she asked but he was right - it was just the garage and didn't really warrant a big trip.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

Karla jumped, hand going straight to her mouth to halt a gasp and turned in the direction of the voice. A shop assistant, perhaps in his late twenties, with sharply cut hair and a confidant stance, stood exactly where Saul had previously stood.

Karla smiled politely, hoping her gifts wouldn't flare up in the presence of a non-Savant. "Thank you but I'm just deciding now."

"I see you're looking for white," the assistant moved closer to her, hovering at her shoulder and leaning over her slightly to look at the paint chips she held. "It's a very soothing color but can look very clinical. Have you considered a pop color to break it up, perhaps a feature wall. Is it for your bedroom?"

Karla took a step back. "It's for the garage, actually. I promised my husband that I wouldn't go with anything wild considering it's more his room than mine."

He reached out and took the chips from Karla, hand lingering on hers, finger trailing over her wedding ring. "I see. Well, you've got some tasteful choices picked out then."

"Thank you, I think I'm going to go with the blue." It would go with Saul's eyes, she thought absentmindedly.

"Would you like some help getting them down?"

"Oh, no, my husband-"

It didn't matter. The assistant had already pulled a medium sized tin off the shelf and placed it on the ground. "Best to start off with a smaller tin. You can always come back if you need anymore." He grinned at her and held out his hand. "I'm Chris, by the way."

She did not take it. "Karla," she replied, taking another step back. "If you'll excuse me, I'll just call my husband and-"

"Have you considered our decorating service?" As if he had no shame, his eyes trailed up and down her body and his grin turned into a smirk. Karla felt sick; her heart began to thud and she glanced around nervously, longing for Saul to have sensed her discomfort and appear out of nowhere. "I can assure you we come very highly recommended."

"I'm sure you do, but, uh, my husband is the one who will be painting." As she said this, Chris paled considerably and Karla spun on her heel.

"Darling!" She did not bother to hide her relief. "Thank goodness, I was beginning to think I'd have to send out a search party for you."

At the sight of her much taller and far better good-looking husband striding down the aisle, t-shirt sleeves bunching around the muscles in his arms, Chris's confidence plummeted and he took several steps back.

As Saul reached Karla, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He lifted the pain tin himself and examined it. "Sweetheart, I told you not to lift anything." He placed it back on the shelf and pulled a much heavier, much larger tin off and put that on the floor, and then reached back up for another one.

"I didn't," Karla explained, "Chris did."

"Well, no matter, it's the wrong size, baby." Saul turned to Christ. "Thanks for helping _my_ wife with her paint choices."

Saul's expression was anything but thankful. Karla didn't care, she was too busy staring up at her husband, cheeks flushed. The way he'd lifted those tins, the way he'd said ' _my_ wife', and the fact that she could hear the possessiveness in his tone all made her feel a little faint.

"No trouble," Chris said stiffly. He cleared his throat. "Are you sure you want two tins? You could always come back."

"Two is fine." _We won't be coming back,_ he added in his head, and Karla bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

"Let me help you to the checkout," Chris reached down for a paint tin, but Saul beat him to it.

"Not necessary," Saul said firmly, "you've done enough. Are you ready to go, sweetheart _?_ "

Karla smiled.

"Yes," she kissed Saul's cheek.

Pushing Karla ahead of him, Saul lifted both tins of paint and they made their way to the checkouts, leaving a disappointed employee in their wake.

"Next time you can choose a color at home and I'll pick it up, sweetheart." Saul said quietly, once they were out of earshot. Karla rolled her eyes.

Her husband was seldom ever jealous - she could only recall a few times when it was him and not her turning a shade of green. But when he was jealous, Karla couldn't help but feel concerned for the well-being of the man giving her unwanted attention. Of course, Saul's calm nature overrode any malice he felt, regardless of how threatened he felt.

"That's not exactly practical, darling," she murmured in response.

Saul lifted the paint tins onto the checkout and turned to his wife, arms folded. "I don't give a damn about practical; I didn't like the way he was looking at you."

"Saul…" Karla said warningly, but her husband wasn't listening. He was glaring at someone over the top of her head and without saying a word, he stepped closer and wrapped a protective arm around her waist.

After paying, once they had escaped the cool hardware store and loaded the tins into the back of the Jeep, Saul pulled Karla to him and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

"You're _my_ girl," he said, a proud grin spread across his face.

"Mm, always," she whispered back, smiling too.


End file.
